


And Not Fade Away

by anthologia



Series: Ornithological Notes on the Gotham-Dwelling Robins [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Chronic Health Condition, Cuddling & Snuggling, DC Convergence Event, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Intervention, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Robincest, Therapy, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 17:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4634409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthologia/pseuds/anthologia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time passes, and people, they adjust to life under the Dome. The majority bend, not break, because humanity would have never made it this far if they were brittle. Dick – to no one’s surprise – is flexible. He throws everything he has into the moment, and that’s enough for him. Tim and Jason and Bludhaven, they’re enough for him. Jason – she thought he might be a problem, but he focuses himself on their new, smaller world without too many stumbles. (She supposes he’s been in smaller ones: Crime Alley; his head; a coffin.)</p><p>This isn’t a new feeling, not really. It’s been there, on and off, for a few years now, starting with her dad’s death. Maybe even before then. Her family died, and it chipped away at her. Her friends died, and a little more fell away that she never got back. </p><p>Part of the Convergence: Bird-Watching stories, starring 63!Tim, Dick, and Jason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Not Fade Away

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my h/c bingo card. Title specifically from Sol Seppy's "Enter One", which I listened to for like 90% of the time I was working on this.
> 
> Content advisory: POV character experiencing fairly major depression.

It starts – well. It creeps up on her. And it’s not new, not really.

Time passes, and people, they adjust to life under the Dome. The majority bend, not break, because humanity would have never made it this far if they were brittle. Dick – to no one’s surprise – is flexible. He throws everything he has into the moment, and that’s enough for him. Tim and Jason and Bludhaven, _they’re_ enough for him. Jason – she thought he might be a problem, but he focuses himself on their new, smaller world without too many stumbles. (She supposes he’s been in smaller ones: Crime Alley; his head; a coffin.)

The numbers of those who can’t adjust are growing, though, and becoming a major concern. There’s therapy groups set up now, support for people who ran into a wall and can’t get past it. Some of them are held in a building the Neon Knights Foundation set up. Timothea Drake-Wayne was even recruited to give a speech about not giving up, supporting each other and getting help when you need it.

And there’s irony in that, because she could already feel it seeping in. An _awareness_ , realization that they’re small people in a small world, and whatever happens, whatever they do – what’s the point? Really. What is the ultimate goal, here? To just survive as long as possible while everything slowly shrinks around them? They’ve already started losing people to stupid diseases and accidents, deaths that would have been easy to avoid back when they were still attached to the rest of the world.

The thing is, one of the reasons she _can’t_ let Dick and Jason know, is that this isn’t a new feeling, not really. It’s been there, on and off, for a few years now, starting with her dad’s death. Maybe even before then. Her family died, and it chipped away at her. Her friends died, and a little more fell away that she never got back. What was the _point_.

So she… keeps going. Because she’s already on this path, and she doesn’t know what else to do. She wakes up in the morning, eats breakfast, leaves the apartment. The Neon Knights Foundation is extremely important to Bludhaven right now; they’ve expanded beyond her original goals of providing better options to the city to become a primary source of humanitarian aid in the city. The Wayne name carries weight in Bludhaven now that it never used to before.

(Occasionally, she wonders if Martha and Thomas would have been proud of her, the adopted granddaughter they never knew. The Wayne Foundation was theirs to begin with, their legacy. Neon Knights is just an outgrowth of what they built.)

She meets with the mayor, police commissioner, heads of hospitals. Signs off on various initiatives to provide needed supplies to medical centers around the city and ensure housing for the people who were stranded in the city when the dome came down. Eats lunch alone, because neither Jason nor Dick show up like they sometimes do, but that’s fine. She wasn’t expecting it.

When late evening hits, she heads to the base of operations she built for the Augur and directs the Red Hood and Nightwing and the few other costumed vigilantes that stepped up when the city needed them. When the night is over, she shuts the system down, except for the few programs that are always running, tracking the city. (She feels bad for them sometimes, that they’re stuck in an endless loop of crawling through the same data over and over again. Then she reminds herself that she’s anthropomorphizing a computer program and probably needs to get out more.

Except. She already _is_.)

There’s a cot set up in a little room off to the side for use on especially long nights or if someone comes in with an injury. Instead of going home, Tim lies down for a few minutes. Not _sleeping._ Just a few minutes. (A few more.) She can’t think of any reason to go back to the apartment. A mattress is a mattress. She can sleep just as well here as anywhere. She’ll get up eventually. For now, she’s just… present, existing and breathing. Eventually, she does fall asleep, her body tricked into it because what else is there to do?

In the morning, she texts the next person down on the Foundation’s chain of command. She can’t come in today. No excuse given, but it’s known that she suffers from a compromised immune system. If she needs to say anything, she can say she felt a little sick and stayed home to rest just in case. She goes back to sleep.

The next time she wakes up, it’s to Jason, sitting on the edge of the mattress and staring down at her with a glint of something in his eyes that she’s not quite aware enough yet to read. “Hey, Babybird,” he says softly. “What happened? You never got back. Are you feeling sick?”

She shakes her head, but the tension in his face doesn’t go away. (She could be lying so he won’t worry. She _is_ lying so he won’t worry, just not the way he thinks.)

He waits, like he’s expecting her to explain, but she doesn’t have anything for him. “Okay,” he says, more to himself than to her, and then again, louder: “Okay. Why don’t I take you home now?”

She thinks about the energy expended, about going outside and being _exposed_ (which is ridiculous, there’s nothing to be exposed _to_ and this would be a terrible time to develop agoraphobia). She wants to stay where she is, but there’s no good argument for it, so she sits up, lets Jason tug her to her feet. There’s no _reason_ to have difficulty walking, but he gets an arm around her to support her anyway, lets her walk painfully slow for a couple yards before he just swings her up into his arms and carries her. And that’s. Fine. She doesn’t object for once, just rests her head against his chest and shuts her eyes.

He drove his motorcycle here, but he takes her car going back, buckles her into the front seat and glances over to check on her at least once every couple minutes. He’s quiet most of the drive except when he calls Dick to tell him to come home. Tim thinks about speaking up, saying that’s not necessary, but her words get trapped in her head, unable to make the leap from thought to speech.

He picks her up again coming out of the car and sets her down when they get to their bed. After a moment of indecisiveness, he shrugs off his jacket and shoes and lies down next to her. To her – confusion? relief? – he doesn’t try to say anything yet, just curls an arm around her and grasps her hand in his.

After a while, Dick comes in, still wearing his police officer’s uniform, and kneels down next to the bed so his face is level with hers. “Hey, Pretty Bird,” he says gently, like he’s worried he might spook her. “What’s going on?”

She doesn’t have any words for him, just stares helplessly until he sighs and leans forward, presses a light kiss to her lips. “Tim. What are we going to do with you?”

It’s a good question, actually. She can think of a few things. Give up and wait until she comes out of this on her own. Tell her she’s being ridiculous, she has work to do and she can’t just lie around. Point out that there’s nothing _wrong_ with her.

Instead, he crawls into bed with them and settles in at her side, facing her and Jason. “You know, we _were_ going to talk to you about this.”

“Told you it should’ve been last night,” Jason mutters.

Dick just starts stroking her hair. “Tim, can you say something, please? I know you’re in there.”

“I. I don’t. I’m not.” The words come out as a whisper, barely voiced, but it _counts_.

“We want you to talk to someone. One of the groups or one-on-one, whatever you’re comfortable with.” His hand is still moving, soothing her. “You haven’t been okay for a while now. We’re worried about you.” He gives her a natural pause to let her make some token protestation but all she can think is that she’s sure she _used_ to be a much better actress. What happened? (She lost interest, maybe.)

She shuts her eyes and tries to picture it, her in a group therapy setting. No. She already _knows_ other people are having trouble coping. She doesn’t need the reminder, a bunch of people sitting in a circle trying to build a new construction of purpose out of whatever flimsy building materials they can find.

“Babybird?” Jason’s breath is warm against her neck. ”What are you thinking?”

What _is_ she thinking? “I don’t know,” she admits.

“Just try it. Okay?” The look in Dick’s eyes is so hopeful that it _hurts_. She finds herself nodding despite her reservations, despite the fact that she’s not even sure, right this moment, if she’s going to be able to leave this bed under her own power. He smiles at her, not quite happy but relieved. “Good. _Good_. Okay. We’ll set it up as soon as we can. Just. Just stick around with us until then, okay?”

“Was I going somewhere?” she asks, the ghost of her usual wry amusement surfacing briefly before it sinks back down into the depths of her mind.

“Nope,” Jason says, his arm squeezing her slightly, hugging her back against his chest. “Nowhere at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you are interested in my fics and want more, I have an account at syntactition.tumblr.com where I have bits of stories that are currently in the works and other ficlets and stories that haven't made their way to AO3.


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